The Girl from Manhattan

She’s in her early twenties
In the middle of Manhattan,
Living it up, making it work.
No– living at work, making it up.
She’s a writer and refuses
To be anything else.
She’ll pay the bills;
She’ll publish her book;
She’ll find someone
Who treats her better.
She says all these things.
Says she’s a dreamer.
There are many dreamers
In Manhattan, but when she says it,
She means she’s a liar.
She can’t face the fact
That her childhood plans
Are stomped on by corporate work
And she buries herself
In the articles she writes
And won’t let herself look
At the paycheck because
It’s never enough, but that’s never
Enough to quit because where
Would she go next?
She’s a writer. And this world
No longer values creativity,
So she shoves her mind
In a neat little box
And types what they want to hear
Because she can’t afford to hear
The words “let go” or “fired” again.
She used to live it up and make it work,
But the bills piled up, so now
She lives at work and makes it up
Because she’s a liar.
Because she’s a dreamer.
And she can’t face the fact
That she’s not living it up anymore.